


Dear Jim

by MonsterTesk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 06:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't matter how many times idiots chant that he has no heart. He does and it's right there, beating against John's too thin chest; so little protection for such an important thing. This may be the last ten minutes of Sherlock's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Jim

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The only thing I own is a laptop or two, a lot of dusty books, and like two CDs. Obviously all the recognizable bits of this are not my intellectual property.
> 
> This is my first fan fiction as I usually prefer to just write original stories but I was bored and tired of reading Sherlock stories where Sherlock Holmes is secretly this over-emotional ponce of a man. I thought I might do something to restore Mr. Holmes' character.
> 
> Set durring the final ~10 minutes of The Great Game. "Are direct quotes from the episode"
> 
> I have no beta so if you spot an error feel free to point it out and if you do you get one free fic from any fandom I know (or original works), one thousand words or less.

"Dear Jim, please, will you fix it for me…"

His voice shakes as he talks, the gun in his hand more steady than he would like it to be. His world has narrowed down to a dark pool enclosure, a few flashing lights on an impossible man, and a psychopath in a smart suit. He grips John's gun with both hands now, wanting to be sure, wanting to be resolute if it became necessary to shoot Moriarty.

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me…"

And Sherlock only hopes that this vile man will fix it for him. Give him a reason, even a small one. Something so that he can pull back on the trigger and turn James Moriarty into a cadaver. Sherlock hopes that Moriarty has bequeathed his body to science. He's sure he could come up with some exceptionally nasty experiments to do with his parts.

"Brilliant."

Sherlock can't help the word escaping his mouth because it's true and he sees no reason that lying will improve the situation. He almost thrills in it. This man has made his life so interesting. But, no, he can still see John in the corner of his eye. Sherlock is always watching him, even if he doesn't look like he is. He would rather kill this insanely brilliant man now than put up with any more of John's big round eyes full of crushed spirits.

"The flirting's over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now."

It was flirting, Sherlock knows. Exhilarating and captivating but, and here is a moment of guilt to slice across his chest, John hated it. And, for some reason Sherlock refuses to allow to be clear within him, this bothers him. It bothers him that John finds this whole situation distasteful. Sherlock doesn't care what society expects, but… he cares what John thinks.

"Now take this as a friendly warning, my dear…"

He hates this feeling coursing through himself. He hates that, while he is suitably attracted to the criminal mastermind in front of him, he wants to end this game. He wants to destroy this man in front of him because the man at his side will like him better for it. And Sherlock begins to feel a measure of self-hate for this because it's not smart to let the morals and attitudes of someone so normal, of someone so, so… human to guide his actions.

"People have died."

The words come out of his mouth only for one man and it's not the one he has the gun pointed at. He hopes that John will appreciate it. Because Sherlock doesn't care about the people. He doesn't care that people have died nor does he care that more probably will. People die all the time and he is glad of the ones that die and provide him some relief. But…

"I will stop you."

He couldn't stand it if John was angry with him, if he left him, because he didn't think Sherlock was human. Something close to real fear for something other than his life courses through Sherlock. He couldn't stand it if John looked at him the way others do. Sherlock feels a hollow pit just under his collarbone at the idea of the word freak being spat at him from John's worry-wrinkled lips.

"No, you won't."

Sherlock panics for a moment because Moriarty is too close to John and this needs to be changed. Sherlock doesn't want to answer his statement. He knows it could have been true; that if John weren't in his life then he wouldn't stop Moriarty. Not right now. No, he would wait until he was sure, until there was no way for him to escape and he would defrock him. Hand him to the police to be humiliated and reminded daily that he could not escape Sherlock's intelligence and that he fell just as all the others did.

"Are you all right?"

Sherlock addresses John for the first time since Moriarty appeared because now Moriarty is too close and setting off John's bomb would endanger him and this is enough of an excuse for Sherlock to look at John, to take in his appearance. John is calm, giving a single nod. His eyes have not left Sherlock this entire time. Sherlock wonders for a moment if John could read what he was thinking below the surface. He's surprised him often enough that it is possible.

"Sherlock, run!"

Again, Sherlock is impressed. Not by John's stupidity, no, but by his ability to surprise him. He did expect John to try something heroic but this… goes a bit beyond simply trying to neutralize an enemy. Sherlock looks around the pool, he attempts to find some way around losing John because he can't quite find a feasible turn of events after John is gone to continuing on. Logically, he knows he would. He knows that if John died he would be disappointed- saddened. Sherlock had grown attached to John but that doesn't mean he couldn't get on without him.

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

Sherlock is profoundly impressed and panicked. This is something far beyond the grasping "logic" of normalcy- what John does. This reaches into something else. It's not smart, no, but it is… terribly impressive. Sherlock feels a swell of pride. John added it up, he knows, and came to the conclusion that the neutralization of such a dangerous subject as Moriarty was important, but… there was more to it. He decided that Sherlock's life, his continued existence, was more important than his own life. Killing Moriarty would just be a plus. The real objective, obviously, seeing that John's first independent words in this encounter were an imperative that Sherlock leave the area, is saving Sherlock's life.

"People do get so sentimental about their pets…"

Sherlock is quiet at this, simply pointing the weapon and trying to think of a way out of this because he can't say: No, he's not my pet. He can't defend John in this because, aside from there being no real reason to, it's not that far off. Being a sociopath doesn't mean he doesn't feel; Sherlock feels. He feels often and intensely but he is incapable of feeling the way other people do; the way others might want him to feel. Sherlock feels sorry for John in this because he knows that he cares for John; that he might even love him but it will never be anything that John might want.

"You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson."

Sherlock can see the reflection of the red light on his forehead in John's eyes and in the way John's face goes from tight and determined to open in panic. This just makes Sherlock resigned. Not to death, of course, but to the hollow, choking feeling that has settled in for the long run behind his collarbone. He will never be able to love John the way he wants; there can never be that philia that John is looking for and there will never be any eros from Sherlock. No matter how John feels for Sherlock, Sherlock will never be able to return the feeling but only a cold facsimile of it.

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

The determined emptiness settles in Sherlock's mind. The boredom is rearing inside of him because he cannot get over how pathetically plain people are. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He knows part of the peaceful feeling in his head is the fact that Moriarty is now threatening him and not John. This… he can handle in an intelligent way. He doesn't want to die, no, but he's been presented with his own death often enough to know how to handle this situation. Moriarty threatening John's life had put him through a nasty turn. Sherlock does not know how to deal with the death of the person he cares for the most (that's not himself).

"I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you."

It doesn't take a moment for Sherlock to work out what he is saying, what his real threat is. It explains Moriarty's cameo at Bart's. It's a threat against the lives of everyone who cares for Sherlock. Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, John… Moriarty will slowly kill them. Painful, and terrifying. With bombs, explosions, fire… Sherlock has done enough experiments on what happens to a body when set fire to, to know what it will look like. He sees Mycroft impaled on a post after his office comes down. Mrs. Hudson caught in a terrible house fire. John with skin curled up in patches from where the heat from an explosion has charred chunks of his body and there is only so much Sherlock can control the dry heave he hopes doesn't show. Dear John… He even knows what it would smell like and how the pieces of John's body will feel, broken down and spread out over too much space to ever recover.

"We both know that's not quite true."

Of course it's not. It doesn't matter how many times idiots like Donavan chant that he has no heart. He does and it's right there, beating against John's too thin chest; so little protection for such an important thing. Sherlock hates this whole thing. He hates Moriarty. He hates this pool enclosure. He hates the red lights. He hates the gun in his hand. He hates humanity and all it has done. And he hates the explosive strapped to John's chest. His John's chest where such an important piece of Sherlock lies.

"And just a teensy bit disappointed."

And at that Sherlock is only one exhalation away from shooting Moriarty. Not because he's a 'bad man' or because he 'deserves it' but because Moriarty is right. Sherlock already knows what his motivation would be for shooting Moriarty and it's in such anathema for who he is but he really doesn't want to help it. He loves John, in his own little twisted way. He knows he started to love him the first time he complimented Sherlock on his deduction. He cherishes those exclaimed words that only John ever says. He cherishes the way John says them as if he's breathy with wonder at how amazing Sherlock is. And Sherlock needs that. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs John because John appreciates him and cares for him and puts up with bullet holes in the wall and severed heads in the fridge.

"Catch you later."

This is a promise and a declaration. Sherlock doesn't even mind if this will take the rest of his life, he will catch Moriarty and see to it that he is in prison or dead because no one is allowed to threaten his loved ones. No one is allowed to strap explosives to John's chest and use him as some sick hand puppet. Sherlock stays tense and away as Moriarty leaves, slowly calming himself down and making himself breathe naturally again. His heart rate spikes as the door shuts behind Moriarty and Sherlock allows himself to become agitated, to panic.

"All right? Are you all right?"

Sherlock lunges for John. He's on his knees in front of his impossible man, unbuckling and jerking the harness open. He's happy to be here- to be near John because it reassures him that John is unharmed physically and because he wants to remove this detestable thing from John. His hands aren't shaking but why would they be? They can shake later, when Sherlock is at home, sitting on the sofa with his dressing gown wrapped around him while he listens to John potter in the kitchen and gripe about milk or the eyeballs in the microwave or some other silly thing that John dislikes. Sherlock will get distracted from the over-whelming fear of losing John when John starts another argument with the stovetop or the waffle-maker he doesn't know Sherlock has turned into a modified Petri dish.

"Fine. I'm fine, Sherlock. Sherlock!"

He ignores John's protesting and tears the jacket off of him and carefully throws it as far away from John as he can. His face is flushed and he knows he's nervous and jumpy because he is starting to allow himself to feel the terror at almost losing John. He can't stand still because he doesn't want to do something uncomfortable and he knows they're not quite safe yet but maybe later Sherlock will try hugging John. He is under the impression that friends do that in stressful situations. It will be awkward but Sherlock is pretty sure that it's called for given the circumstances. Also he wants to be assured that John will not suffer unduly for this and it will be an accurate way to test his heart rate and reaction to intimacy as it is well-known that kidnap and hostage victims sometimes suffer from a fear of physical closeness to others because of their experience. Post-traumatic.

"Ooooh, Christ."

Sherlock hears John panting and the hiss after the exclamation as well and he makes sure he's busied himself with checking the area because there could be other bombs or people waiting and he doesn't want to show too much concern at the moment because he knows Moriarty is still watching them and he doesn't want him to know just how much he cares for John. The previous feelings of helplessness at their situation have also spurred him on to do something- some action to make himself feel more in control. There's nothing left to do, he's checked where John came from, where Moriarty left through and he doesn't want to get too near the explosives so where Moriarty came in through is out of bounds to check so Sherlock is left to begin thinking about this experience and what it entails.

"Are you okay?"

Again Sherlock is surprised by John but really, he shouldn't be at this. He blames his current stressed state and then demands his mind do better next time because being distracted in a situation like this is not ideal. He isn't paying attention to anything he's doing. Sherlock is pacing because he cannot do anything immediately and he has to wait for John to recover a bit before they can move to a safer location to call lest Moriarty feels like setting off the bomb anyway. He feels vulnerable when he tells John what he thinks of what he did but it's awkward and not well done because Sherlock is distracted and nervous and not wanting to scare John by doing something that even he would find weird. Like hugging him or giving him a big kiss for being so brilliant, even though he is still quite stupid. He wouldn't want John to misconstrue what he meant by his actions.

"I'm glad no one saw that."

Sherlock feels a little hurt that John would say that about his admission and is relieved that he didn't go through with the, albeit fleeting, urge to pick John up and twirl about and kiss him on the lips out of sheer relief that they're both still alive. He had hoped, though, that John would be less cruel since he had already proven himself less prejudiced than most others and much more tolerant of Sherlock's eccentricities. He begins to feel the beginnings of that emptiness seeping through his brain in defense of his hurt feelings when John continues on.

"You- ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock feels suddenly light and happy because John just made a joke and he seems to be fine, if a bit rattled. He can't help but smile because John said hardly three sentences and Sherlock feels like order is restored. A part of his mind notes that John seemed to have no objections to the ripping off of the clothes but merely the idea that people would be spreading malicious rumors about him. Sherlock files away this observation for later in case it ever becomes necessary to perform acts that may be construed as 'intimate' with John while attempting to solve a case or complete an experiment. One never knows…

"People do little else."

Sherlock savors the small little snort of a laugh that John does at his quip. He is glad that he can repay John in some way for the company he gives Sherlock. Not many people have or would put up with Sherlock on a daily basis and very few of those people who have ever put up with him have ever had the tenacity and stubbornness to live with him. It's not the body parts in the kitchen or the projectiles on the sofa that run them off, he knows, though it is part of it. It's him. He frightens people; unsettles them. His ability to observe, his intellect, and his ignorance force people away from him. He doesn't mind for the most part, though. If they can't stand him then obviously they don't deserve to be near him. But… everyone needs someone, he knows. There is no getting around human nature, really. Sherlock still has needs and desires and he wants for company most days. Most people are little better than the skull but John… John is an improbable man. He is unique and interesting and constantly surprising.

"Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

It has and Sherlock knows he has a good enough reason to. He turns and aims John's weapon onto the explosive jacket. He wishes, fleetingly, that he can see John one last time, make sure he understands what this plan entails but he knows he can not be shown to waver. Really, he isn't wavering. He's going to shoot it and there will be heat and fire and ringing (this is not the first time Sherlock has blown himself up). He's putting his being in John's hands, however. That is new. He never trusts people to save him or to understand what he's thinking. Yet… here he is pointing another man's machine at an explosive and expecting that that same man will do what Sherlock knows he will. Sherlock trusts John; utterly and completely and without hope.

Boom.


End file.
